


i am weak, my love (and i am wanting)

by vachement



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Getting Together, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Sharing a Bed, dumbass jaskier, idiots to lovers in 12k words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vachement/pseuds/vachement
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier knew when he’d fucked up. Sure, the knowledge usually led to him digging a bigger hole for himself, but he was at least self-aware enough to know that he was, at heart, a massive idiot.Which was why he was currently knocking on the door to Geralt’s apartment, a box of chocolates held awkwardly in one hand.“Geralt!” he greeted as soon as the other man opened the door. He held out the chocolates first as a preemptive peace offering, knowing well that he’d need it. “Date me.”Geralt shut the door in his face.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 93
Kudos: 1297





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> who doesnt love a good fake dating au? dont worry, the story is already completely written; i'll update once a day (unless i forget, in which case it will be longer. sorry.)
> 
> enjoy!!

Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier knew when he’d fucked up. Sure, the knowledge usually led to him digging a bigger hole for himself, but he was at least self-aware enough to know that he was, at heart, a massive idiot. 

Which was why he was currently knocking on the door to Geralt’s apartment, a box of chocolates held awkwardly in one hand. 

“Geralt!” he greeted as soon as the other man opened the door. He held out the chocolates first as a preemptive peace offering, knowing well that he’d need it. “Date me.”

Geralt shut the door in his face. 

Jaskier scowled, knocking again. Sure, he hadn’t been the most tactful, but he definitely didn’t deserve to have a door slammed in his face. That was just  _ mean _ . Grumbling under his breath, he dug in his pockets for the spare key that he had bullied Geralt into giving him. Thankfully, Geralt was not waiting on the other side of the door to punch him in the face.

Jaskier made his way into the apartment, finding Geralt looking unimpressed on the sofa, as per usual. He opened his mouth to speak, but Geralt cut him off with a raised hand.

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt said, not even waiting to hear Jaskier’s perfectly reasonable explanation. 

“Hear me out,” Jaskier pleaded, tossing the chocolates at Geralt. “Eat those, they’ll put you in a good mood. I bet you’re hangry, aren’t you? That’s why you’re not indulging your bestest friend in the whole wide world--”

“ _ Jaskier _ .”

“Okay, okay, I’m getting to the point, sorry,” he took a deep breath. It was a terrible thing he was asking, part of an even more terrible scheme, but he was desperate. “I need you to pretend to date me for a week. Because I possibly might have told my mother that I was seeing someone, and she potentially is now coming to stay with me for a few days and  _ meet  _ this someone, which was  _ not  _ the original plan, let me tell you, but now I need someone to pretend to be my boyfriend. And you’re the only person who I could think of who wouldn’t laugh in my face, mostly because you don’t really laugh. Ever. Are you, like, okay?”

Geralt threw an arm over his eyes. “How did that even come up?”

“Well, she said,  _ Jaskier, are you seeing anyone? You’re just so lonely, and I worry,  _ and blah, blah, blah,” Jaskier hedged, shifting from foot to foot. “And I, of course, said yes. You know, like an idiot. And she kept asking questions, and you know how I love making up stories, and I got maybe a little too invested, and...” He spread his hands. “Here we are.”

“You told her you were dating me specifically, didn’t you.”

“I panicked,” Jaskier said, neither confirming nor denying anything, though he knew Geralt saw right through him. “Listen, I will owe you for the rest of time. I will either transport or dispose of a body for you if you do this for me. Please, Geralt?”

“Jaskier, the only body I’d need to transport or dispose of would be yours,” said Geralt, but Jaskier could hear him weakening. 

“Please, please, please, please,  _ please _ ,” Jaskier begged. “Trust me, I’m only going to get more annoying if you say no. Pretty please with a cherry on top? Two cherries?  _ Three _ ? Three seems excessive, but I’m willing to settle for two and a half if you do this for me.”

“Hmm,” Geralt rolled his eyes. Jaskier pumped his fist in victory: that was Geralt’s affirmative,  _ you've worn me down and I can’t think of a way to say no that won’t make you irritate me more  _ hum. Jaskier was proud to say that he was fluent in Geraltese.

“You’re the best and I owe you so much,” Jaskier gushed. He came over to plop down on the couch next to Geralt. “Okay, so my mom will be here in two days. Do you think you can put on a convincing show of liking me by then? Because it’s not too late to flee the country, change our names, and set up new lives somewhere she’ll never find us.”

“Why would I be fleeing your mother with you?” Geralt raised an eyebrow. 

“Because your life would be so boring without me, and somewhere deep down, like, very far down there, you’ve admitted to yourself that I’m your best friend,” Jaskier answered promptly. “So is that a yes on the liking me convincingly thing? You're just agreeing awfully quickly. I honestly thought I’d have to bribe you more.”

Geralt huffed loudly. “It depends on how irritating you are,” he teased. “If you’re on your best behavior for your mother, I’m sure I can handle it.”

Jaskier, like the mature adult he was, stuck his tongue out. “Listen, I am a delight all the time,” he grumbled, leaning in against Geralt’s side. He could feel Geralt’s rumbling laughter, but the other man stayed tellingly silent. 

Jaskier was starting to melt into Geralt’s warmth when he remembered all at once why this was a terrible plan. He kind of, maybe had a huge crush on Geralt. That was why his mind had immediately gone to Geralt for his lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t expected his mother to jump on it so wholeheartedly. And now he’d managed to convince Geralt to  _ pretend  _ to like him for a week (he harbored no illusions that it would be anything but pretend). Jaskier wasn’t sure how he was supposed to hide his infatuation for the duration, if he was being honest.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that none of it would be real. That, more than anything else, was like a bucket of cold water, shaking him out of his playful planning. Now, he just had to cling to that feeling. Sure, he’d have to pinch himself several times throughout the coming week, but he could do it. 

Focused on his resolve, he didn’t notice Geralt speaking to him until the other man snapped his fingers in front of Jaskier’s face.

“What?” Jaskier blinked himself back to awareness. “I was listening, totally, one hundred percent, but do you mind repeating what you said so I can be certain I understood?”

Geralt flicked his forehead lightly, the way he always did when Jaskier zoned out. It wasn’t mean; it was almost fond, but Jaskier didn’t want to think about that. “I asked if you were staying for dinner,” he said gruffly. 

“Well, I have exactly one can of expired Spaghetti-O’s in my apartment,” Jaskier said sheepishly, ignoring the part of his brain that reminded him how much easier it would be to get over Geralt if he wasn’t spending all his time with the man. “If you don’t mind having me, I’d love to.” And, because Jaskier was nothing if not a sadist, he added, “We can work on making our story believable, too. You know, what if my mother quizzes you on my favorite color? Or flower? Or, like, time of day?”

Geralt stood with a somewhat irritated expression, the one that he saved for Jaskier only that was a mix of genuine exasperation and grudging amusement. “Gold, buttercups, and morning, because it’s easier for you to compose after a good night’s sleep,” he ticked off on his fingers. “Now, come help me with the cooking. You owe me.”

Jaskier’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He took a moment to compose himself, to try to calm the flush on his cheeks and his rabbiting heartbeat, before following Geralt into the kitchen.

God, he’d definitely fucked up this time. 

\-----

Geralt was… not the best with emotions. He could admit that easily, and in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t his worst flaw. Still, he made an effort with his friends, with  _ Jaskier _ , and that was what mattered.

Still, when Jaskier had knocked on his door and said  _ date me _ , Geralt was ashamed to say that he backslid tremendously. He’d shut the door right in Jaskier’s face, because talking to Jaskier unlocked a weird box of emotions in his chest that he never, ever wanted to analyze.

He was spared from having to by Jaskier explaining that it was all a ruse, a grand plot to fool his mother into thinking his life was going better than it was. Geralt  _ also  _ didn’t want to analyse how  _ that  _ made him feel, so he shoved the confused hurt into that weird box of things never to think of again.

Of course, it was harder to not dwell on his confusing feelings for the man when said man was laid across his lap, gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke and almost hitting Geralt in the face. 

“Logistically, you’re probably going to want to stay with me for a couple days,” Jaskier was saying, an apologetic note to his voice. “But I’ll feed you! And you can bring Roach. I feel like taking care of a pet together increases the believability of our story.”

“You can’t even feed yourself, I’m not trusting you with my cat,” Geralt shook his head. He didn’t say any more; he didn’t have to. Jaskier was already flailing in mock-offense. 

“I can feed myself and your cat!” he protested. “I am a grown adult and legally I could take care of another living thing. I had a plant, remember, and it didn’t die for a long time! And, you know, I’m still alive, and that has to be a point in my favor.”

“Not for lack of trying,” muttered Geralt. He ran a soothing hand through Jaskier’s hair to calm the other man. It was a foolproof method of getting Jaskier to settle; Geralt had tried and tested it many times and it had yet to fail him.

Jaskier practically purred under his hands. “That was really mean, but I’ll let it go if you keep doing that.”

“Hmm,” Geralt tried his best to sound put-out, but he indulged Jaskier anyway.

He  _ really  _ didn’t want to think about why.

It wasn’t even that he didn’t know how to handle romantic relationships ( _ not _ , of course, that he was classifying his feelings for Jaskier as anywhere near the romantic variety)-- he was still on amicable terms with his exes, and that had to count for something-- but rather, he didn’t know how to handle  _ friendships _ . 

Jaskier was like a baby duckling that had imprinted on Geralt: he’d latched on as soon as they’d met, practically following Geralt home, and he’d refused to disappear after that. After a while, Geralt had even stopped finding him truly irritating. Now, he could readily admit (to himself) that Jaskier was his best friend. And he really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to lose that.

It wasn’t worth pushing for more, to examine the fluttering feelings in his chest when he looked at Jaskier sprawled trustingly in his lap, because one wrong move and he could lose his friend for good. Geralt wasn’t ready to risk that.

At least he had confirmation that there were no…  _ feelings  _ on Jaskier’s end. Jaskier wouldn’t have invited him into this ruse if there was anything there, because Geralt had personally witnessed how Jaskier seemed to lose any modicum of sense when around one of his infatuations du jour. There was no way he’d be able to keep a ruse going around his mother, of all people, if he was useless with affection. 

Geralt chose to not focus on the bitter taste that left in his mouth and instead, listen to Jaskier, who was apparently back to prattling on about nonsense. He nodded at whatever the man was saying, because it tended to be easier to just agree. Only, Jaskier wasn’t talking, just watching him expectantly.

Geralt refused to flush under Jaskier’s gaze. “What?” he asked tersely.

Jaskier smiled, the smile that brought crinkles to his eyes, the one that he seemed to flash at everyone but that had a special twinkle for Geralt. “You just agreed to tell me all the fun little details about you,” he smirked. “You know, the normal things that other people share but you would rather cut out your tongue than share. Remember that time I asked you your favorite color and you didn’t speak to me for three days?”

Geralt hummed noncommittally. He really didn’t have anything against sharing those little things; it was just fun to watch Jaskier squirm, sometimes. “Blue,” he admitted finally.  _ Like your eyes _ . “There. Now can I ignore you for three days again?”

Jaskier scowled. “That’s  _ boring _ ,” he huffed. “What shade of blue? Come on, I require details if I’m to be convincing.”

“And why, again, do I care if you’re convincing?” Geralt really wasn’t as bought into the idea of this ruse as Jaskier was, but he was also unable to deny Jaskier anything, so there was that. 

“Because my mother is a truly terrifying woman, and you don’t want to be on her bad side,” Jaskier intoned. “So, tell me the shade. Give me details!”

“Cornflower blue, and that’s all you’re getting,” Geralt said with finality. Even admitting that much put glee in Jaskier’s (cornflower blue) eyes, so it was worth it. 

Jaskier sat up, shuffling so that he was sitting against the arm of the couch with his legs still in Geralt’s lap. “Favorite animal?” he shook his head. “Wait, don’t tell me. I can guess it! Does it lack external ears? I’m getting a seal vibe from you, I don’t know why. Or maybe hooves… is it an alpaca?”

Geralt just hummed in response.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Jaskier visibly drooped, though Geralt knew it was an act. “I’m going to tell my mother your favorite animal is an alpaca, and she’s going to judge you for the rest of time, just so you know. It’s probably easier to just tell me.”

“I don’t have a favorite animal,” said Geralt. It was true; he really didn’t have a preference for any particular furry (or scaly, or feathery) creature. Sure, he liked Roach, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say he liked cats all that much. He considered making one up, but he knew Jaskier would see right through him. He was uncanny like that.

Jaskier looked at him for a moment with that piercing gaze. Something passed over his eyes, something here and gone too quick for Geralt to decipher. For all that he wore his feelings on his sleeve, sometimes, Jaskier was very difficult to read. 

“That,” he said after a beat. “Is sad. I’m assigning you a favorite animal, because this is truly a tragedy. From now on, you love wolves. I feel like you’re a wolf guy, somewhere deep down. Like, you’re big and intimidating but you’re actually a huge softie.”

“Wolves kill people, Jaskier,” Geralt couldn’t believe he had to remind Jaskier of that. “If you fuck with a wolf, it will eat you. They are  _ not  _ softies.”

“I don’t believe that,” Jaskier said airily. “I think wolves and I would get along really well. In fact, I’m going to go find one to hug and prove you wrong.”

There were very few people-- one, to be exact-- that could drive Geralt to the edge of insanity. Jaskier made up literally that entire list. He was special like that. “If you hug a wolf, I will leave you to deal with your mother on your own,” he threatened. 

Jaskier made a face. “You, Geralt, are the worst fake boyfriend I’ve ever had. Sure, I haven’t had any but you, but of the one that exists, you are the worst.”

“But that means I’m also the best,” Geralt shrugged with a small smile. “You can’t have it both ways.”

Jaskier squinted at him for a second while he puzzled out the logic. “I hate you,” he declared finally. 

“Hmm.”

They lapsed into companionable silence. It was rare for Jaskier to stay quiet, but Geralt figured he had a lot on his mind. He got quiet when he was really, truly thinking. He didn’t do it often, in Geralt’s experience, but it happened. Geralt closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the lack of talking. While he didn’t mind Jaskier’s conversation, there was something about blessed silence sometimes.

Of course, Jaskier couldn’t be quiet for  _ too  _ long.

“Hey,” he looked at Geralt, strangely tentative. “You’re really okay with this? I know I sort of barged in here and announced we were doing it, and I figured you’d punch me if you were, like, vehemently against it, but I just wanted to make sure. This is fine?”

Geralt, for once, heard what he wasn’t asking.  _ We’re okay?  _

“I would’ve said no if it wasn’t,” Geralt reassured him. He could’ve said more, something about of course it was okay, because he was Jaskier’s friend and he’d do what Jaskier needed, but he didn’t. He wasn’t much for words, especially ones that revealed a little too much. 

Jaskier nodded, more to himself than anyone else. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, standing up. Geralt missed his warmth as soon as he was gone. “Well, now that that’s settled, I’ve probably got to be heading home now. It’s getting late.”

Geralt stood, too, to walk Jaskier to the door. “Get home safe,” he said. He couldn’t help but to feel like he’d just experienced whiplash; Jaskier really was a whirlwind of a person. Most of their conversations left Geralt feeling that way.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, darling,” Jaskier winked at him and blew him a kiss. “Try not to fall in love with me while I’m gone.”

As the door shut behind him, Geralt realized that was going to be easier said than done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> could i have come up with a name for jaskier's mother? probably. did i? no.
> 
> enjoy :))

Jaskier was panicking, just a little bit. He’d cleaned his apartment three times, then messed it up again with Geralt’s things to add some realism to their ruse. Then he’d cleaned it again, because he was a stress cleaner. 

Geralt was lounging on the couch, where he’d been for the past hour or so. He had  _ not  _ helped with the stress cleaning, much to Jaskier’s displeasure, but at least he’d shown up right on time. Jaskier had been a little worried that Geralt was going to back out last minute; it wasn’t exactly a normal thing that Jaskier was asking, and he wouldn’t have blamed Geralt for saying no. 

“Calm down,” Geralt advised, his amber eyes tracking Jaskier as he flitted around the room. “You look like you’re about to keel over and die.”

“You always say the sweetest things, my dear,” Jaskier shot back with a glare. “Let me just finish rearranging this tabletop and I’ll come sit for a bit. Do you think the picture frame looks better on the right or the le-- ack!”

While Jaskier had had his back turned, Geralt, evidently, had crossed the room to forcibly relocate him. Jaskier writhed ineffectually in Geralt’s strong hold as the other man carried him back to the sofa. At least it was a good distraction; Jaskier had to focus a good amount of brainpower to making sure his mind didn’t stray anywhere inappropriate, like other potential uses for Geralt’s strength… 

Jaskier shook his head to get rid of  _ that  _ thought. He glared at Geralt, who had finally deemed it appropriate to set Jaskier down and stop him from moving by draping his legs across Jaskier’s lap. 

“Asshole,” he muttered, swatting a hand lazily at Geralt. “What was that for?”

“You were panicking,” Geralt said simply. “The picture frame looks the same on either side.”

Jaskier hated it when Geralt had a point. It happened so rarely, but it was irritating every time. “But objectively I was right to rearrange the bookshelf,” he countered. “It looks better this way.”

“Hmm,” and that was Geralt’s disagreeing hum, Jaskier knew it well. 

He scowled. “Maybe you just have poor interior designing skills,” he said with a huff. “In fact, I’m going to get up and fix that picture frame. I think it needs to be on the left.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow when Jaskier struggled to get out from under his weight. “It looks fine,” he said with finality. He got that wrinkle in his forehead that he always did when he was about to say something about emotions; Jaskier was intimately familiar with the other man’s inability to discuss feelings, but he couldn’t help but to feel a flare of affection in his chest in response to the attempt. “Why are you so worried about your mother coming?”

Jaskier sighed and leaned back into the couch. If he was being honest, he didn’t know why he was bothering to try to pretend like he had everything together for his mother. It wasn’t like it was going to matter to her, anyway. They didn’t have the best relationship, with his mother generally disapproving of everything he’d ever done, up to and including running off to the city to try his hand at music instead of staying at university and getting a steady, boring job. She called so rarely that Jaskier couldn’t help but to try to spin a better story about his prospects when she did deign to speak to him, hence the whole fake dating thing. He’d just wanted to impress her, for once, and it was already looking like it was falling apart, thanks to that one  _ stupid  _ picture frame in the wrong place.

He said as much to Geralt, who hummed in sympathy (but still didn’t let him up to fix the frame).

“I just want her to be proud of me,” he finished lamely. God, he felt like a fucking child, still desperate for his mother’s approval. “So I’m going to show her how well my life is going, and she’s going to finally fucking approve, and it’ll be fine.” He held up a hand before Geralt could say anything. “I know-- it’s not the healthiest attitude. I’m working on it.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment. “Fuck what your mother thinks,” he said finally with a note of anger. “Jas, if she’s not proud of you, she’s an idiot.”

Jaskier did his level best not to blush. “Well,” he said, ignoring the crack in his voice. “Thank you, Geralt.” He scrubbed at his face. His cheeks were wet with tears he didn’t remember shedding, and he hoped that his eyes weren’t all red and puffy. Jaskier fixed his hair, too, and straightened his collar. “Now, how do I look? My mother’s going to be here any minute, and I can’t very well look like I’ve been bawling my eyes out on the sofa.”

“Hmm,” Geralt leaned closer to brush a piece of hair off of Jaskier’s forehead. His fingers left trails of fire where they touched Jaskier, and Jaskier knew he'd lost the battle with his blush. They were close enough that Jaskier could feel Geralt’s breath on his lips. “Beautiful.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier whispered. A little closer and their lips would be touching. Jaskier ached to lean and close the distance, but the rational part of his mind was screaming at him to back off. Geralt was his  _ friend _ , and he didn’t want to be anything more than that. He was doing Jaskier a favor, nothing more. The compliment was just him getting into character. 

A knock on the door startled Jaskier into practically leaping a foot backwards. He stared at Geralt for a second, practically paralyzed.

“You don’t have to answer it,” Geralt offered quietly. There was an interesting light pink tinge to his face, but Jaskier didn’t have the time to analyze it.

Jaskier shook his head. “Yes, I do.”

He shoved Geralt’s legs off of him so that he could stand. With a deep breath, Jaskier shoved all of his feelings to the back of his mind, put on his best smile, and unlocked the door.

His mother wasn’t a tall woman, but she was imposing in her own right. She had the same blue eyes that he did, but hers were ringed with dark makeup and far more guarded than Jaskier could ever hope to be (he had been told more than once that he wore his heart on his sleeve). She looked at him with barely masked distaste, her gaze flicking into his apartment and cataloging what to criticize. Jaskier barely held back a resigned sigh,

“Mother,” he greeted, letting his mom into the apartment. He tried to inject cheer into his voice, but he could hear how flat it fell. “So wonderful to see you! I hope your trip was okay; can I take your coat?”

“Julian,” she said, stepping in to give him an awkward hug. “Good to see you, as well. It’s been a while since you called me, much less invited me to visit! I haven’t been to this apartment, have I? It’s quite…  _ cozy _ .”

Jaskier gritted his teeth, but tried to keep a pleasant expression on his face. “No, I don’t believe you’ve visited me here,” he said evenly. He liked his apartment, even if it was on the small side, because it was  _ his _ . He tried not to let her opinion bother him. “But come in, come in. Mother, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Geralt stepped forward and extended a hand. “I’m Geralt, Jaskier’s partner,” he introduced himself. He was smiling, and not the wolf smiles or the half-smirks that he usually used. Jaskier could tell how fake it was, but only because he knew Geralt. Something about it set Jaskier on edge, but he couldn’t say why. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Pankratz.”

“Ah, you’re the boyfriend!” Jaskier’s mother said, shaking his hand. “Julian has told me so much about you; it’s good to finally meet you in person.”

She kept talking, but Jaskier wasn’t really listening. Over her shoulder, Geralt’s eyes locked with Jaskier’s.  _ Julian?  _ he mouthed, clearly confused. Jaskier nodded, a little embarrassed. He didn’t mind his name, but it hadn’t fit who he was in a long time. He’d changed it as soon as he’d gotten to university, and the topic had never come up with Geralt. In hindsight, though, he probably should've mentioned it. 

“Okay, Mother, that’s probably enough gossiping with my boyfriend,” Jaskier interrupted, steering her towards the sofa. “Are you hungry? I know it was a long trip up.”

“Did  _ you  _ cook?” his mother wrinkled her nose in displeasure. “I don’t know if I trust anything you’ve whipped up. You've always been a terrible cook.”

Jaskier took a deep, calming breath. “No, of course not,” he laughed fakely as Geralt shot him a concerned look. “I ordered Indian. I’ll bring you a plate.”

The rest of the evening went pretty much exactly how Jaskier was expecting: his mother made snide comments about something or other, and he grinned and bore it. However, he hadn’t factored in how much his mother would love Geralt. Had he known, he would’ve introduced the two earlier.

Somehow, Geralt had managed to charm his mother with his noncommittal hums and his dry wit, something that Jaskier had definitely not foreseen. But his mother was occupied with laughing raucously to one of Geralt’s succinct work stories instead of criticizing Jaskier, so Jaskier would count it as a win. He flashed a thankful smile to Geralt any time the other man’s eyes strayed to him. 

At some point after dinner, Jaskier had curled up against Geralt’s side like a cat. He told himself that it was just to make them look more domestic, more  _ convincing _ , but he was also an expert at lying to himself when the occasion called for it. The truth was, he just wanted the comfort. Dealing with his mother took a lot out of him, sometimes. 

“You two are adorable together,” his mother said, her sharp tongue softened by the two glasses of wine she’d had with dinner. “Julian, tell me, how long have you two been together, again?”

“Three years,” Jaskier lied. He’d met Geralt ten years ago, so seven years of friendship and silent pining sounded reasonable to him.

“And how did you meet?” she asked. “Give your poor mother the details; I’m starved for gossip back home.”

“He was performing in a bar, and he came up to me after his performance because I was the only one who didn’t comment on it, apparently,” Geralt explained, somehow gruff and fond at the same time. “After that, I couldn’t get him to leave.”

Jaskier stared at Geralt. He’d been expecting some fluffy lie, honestly, not how they actually met. Especially not an incorrect telling of it! “Excuse you, you were immediately delighted by my presence and practically begged me to stay,” Jaskier sniffed primly. “And I only came up to you because you looked broody and bored, and I couldn’t morally leave you alone.”

“Hmm,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. 

Jaskier scowled at him. “I’m right and you know it,” he argued. “If you’d wanted me gone, you wouldn’t have given me your number, right?”

“Jas, you stole my phone and saved your number yourself under  _ future best friend, _ ” Geralt rolled his eyes. “I was just too lazy to block you.”

Jaskier’s mother laughed out loud. “That sounds like Julian,” she told Geralt. “He’s very skilled at irritating people into liking him. Why, I remember this time--”

“And I think that’s enough for the night!” Jaskier cut in, eager to avoid the embarrassing stories portion of meeting the parents. “You must be tired, Mother. I’ve set up the bedroom for you, and Geralt and I will sleep out here.”

“Nonsense,” she shook her head. “This sofa isn’t big enough for two adults. I’ll stay out here, and you two take the bed.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened in panic. The plan had been that Geralt would slip out as soon as his mother went to bed, going back to his apartment for the night, because Jaskier didn’t exactly have a guest room in which to put him up. The idea of sharing a bed hadn’t even come up, and now Jaskier didn’t know how to react. 

He was trying to stutter something out when Geralt came to his rescue. “If you’re sure,” he said. “I’ll grab some sheets for the sofa, then. Jaskier, a little help?”

“Of course, yep, sheets,” Jaskier said faintly. “I’ll get the pillows, shall I?”

He walked to the bedroom to grab his extras, wondering what the hell Geralt was playing at. Did he realize that he was signing them both up to share Jaskier’s small bed? Of course, Jaskier would take the floor, but it was the principle of the thing! Something fluttered in his chest, but he refused to think about it. Geralt just hadn’t wanted to make the trip back home, that was all. It didn’t mean anything.

He returned to the living room, pillows in hand, to see Geralt making up the sofa. There was an odd lump in his throat at the odd domesticity of it all, but he swallowed it down and handed his mother the pillows.

“Are you sure you want to stay out here?” Jaskier asked his mother again. “Geralt and I really don’t mind.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she clucked her tongue. “You boys take the bedroom. And please, Julian--” she gave Jaskier a significant look. “--remember that your poor mother is sleeping out here, and the walls are quite thin.”

“ _ Mother! _ ” Jaskier hissed, blushing bright red. 

Geralt chuckled. “Good night, Mrs. Pankratz,” he said diplomatically, leading Jaskier towards the bedroom. He was really getting into the role of fake boyfriend, Jaskier had to admit, and he was doing a damn good job of it. If he hadn’t arranged the ruse himself, he would’ve believed it was real. 

Jaskier ignored the pit in his stomach and forced a smile onto his lips as Geralt closed the bedroom door behind them. “Thanks so much,” he gushed. “You’re the best. Seriously, you’re amazing. I owe you so, so, so much. Oh, do you need to borrow pajamas?”

Geralt gave him an unimpressed look, like  _ do you honestly think your clothing is going to fit me?  _ Jaskier smiled sheepishly in response, changing quickly into the first shirt he could find, even though it was several sizes too big and definitely not his own. He wasn’t shy, not around Geralt; they’d known each other far too long for that.

“You’re welcome,” Geralt said finally, as wordy as he always was. Jaskier hadn’t expected a long conversation; had he wanted one, he was very capable of carrying it all on his own. He just hummed and set about finishing getting ready for bed. Geralt moved around the room, doing the same.

Jaskier blamed the domesticity on a long friendship. It meant nothing that he had Geralt’s spare toothbrush under his sink, or that he was able to dig a pair of stolen sweatpants out of the bottom of his dresser, or that he kept a hairbrush he didn’t need on his bathroom counter for the days Geralt stayed over. 

Jaskier deliberately averted his eyes as Geralt changed. That, he couldn’t exactly blame on the platonic feelings of friendship. 

“Ready for bed?” he asked, flicking the light switch without waiting for a response. 

It was then that the situation hit him: there was only one bed. As his eyes adjusted, Jaskier could see Geralt staring at him expectantly. Jaskier hoped that his miserable groan wasn’t audible, but he highly doubted that, because the universe seemed to be doing its best to fuck him over.

“So,” he started, but then he realized he had no earthly idea where to go with that sentence. He broke off into silence, hoping Geralt would pick up the slack somehow.

Geralt watched him, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “So.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” Jaskier offered awkwardly. “Toss me a pillow, please?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Geralt shook his head. “It’s your bed. I’ll take the floor.”

Jaskier made a face. “You’re the guest, which means you get the bed,” he argued with flailing hands. “I have  _ manners _ , Geralt.”

Geralt snorted at that. “Take the bed, Jaskier.”

“I will do no such thing,” Jaskier announced, sitting down on the floor. “The floor is my new home. I live here now. And now you have no choice but to take the bed because otherwise it’ll go completely to waste, and you don’t want that, do you?”

Geralt moved to the bed with a sigh, seemingly defeated. Jaskier watched him climb under the covers as he himself settled to get comfortable on the rug. It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever slept, but he resigned himself to having a crick in his neck the next morning. 

Jaskier had closed his eyes when Geralt spoke next. “Come up here,” he said gruffly. “It’s big enough for two.”

Jaskier’s traitorous heart skipped a beat and he hoped his flush wasn’t visible in the dark. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I’m really fine down here, this is a quality rug. Just throw me a pillow and it’s practically the same as my bed.”

“ _ Jaskier _ .”

“Fine, if you insist,” Jaskier tried his best to calm the tremble in his voice. “But I’m warning you, I kick.”

He could practically  _ hear  _ Geralt's smirk. “I think I’ll survive,” Geralt said dryly. “Get in the bed before I change my mind.”

Heart thumping, Jaskier scrambled up off of the floor and cautiously slid under the blankets next to Geralt. He was stiff as a board; it was hard to resist the urge to curl into Geralt otherwise. Jaskier had the feeling he was going to be up all night, both high on and terrified of the prospect of sleeping next to the other man. Damn his infatuation.

Jaskier was all the way at the far side of the bed, but he could still feel the heat of Geralt’s body next to his. Try as he might, he couldn’t relax. He could barely  _ breathe _ , with Geralt so close to him. He turned on his side as best as he could without disturbing the bed too much, deciding to at least face away from Geralt. 

He closed his eyes again to at least try to sleep, but a strong arm wrapped itself around his waist, dragging him towards the center of the mattress so that he wasn’t halfway off the bed anymore. Jaskier’s breath caught.

“It’s like you’ve never shared a bed before,” Geralt’s whisper was practically a growl, and Jaskier shivered at the feeling of lips against his ear. “Relax.”

Almost against his will, Jaskier relaxed into Geralt’s hold. Well, most of him did. He definitely was  _ not  _ going to acknowledge what that voice did to some parts of his anatomy. 

“I’m relaxed,” he babbled. “I’m so relaxed, definitely never been more relaxed in my life. I could just-- okay, I’m shutting up, I’m shutting up.”

“ _ Sleep _ ,” Geralt ordered softly, pulling Jaskier tighter against his chest. 

Try as he might, Jaskier couldn’t resist that voice, and his eyes fluttered shut. One breath, two, cuddled into Geralt’s warmth, and he was fast asleep.

\----- 

Geralt woke slowly, his eyes fluttering and his brain not quite comprehending his surroundings. He was warm, warmer than he usually was in his own bed. Confused, he blinked his eyes open, and--  _ oh _ .

He was in Jaskier’s bed, Jaskier sprawled on top of him like a little octopus. Jaskier’s normally orderly hair was a mess of tangles on his head, and he snored away without a thought for how his face was smushed against Geralt’s chest. He looked peaceful; Geralt realized how hard the visit must have been on him, to have put those lines on his face, but everything was smoothed away in sleep. Geralt had to resist the urge to take a photo, if only because objectively, Jaskier looked beautiful.

Instead, he slowly worked on extricating himself from Jaskier’s death grip. It took some maneuvering, and Geralt was very tempted to just stay there in the bed, but he succeeded in the end. Carefully, he drew the sheets over Jaskier’s shoulders, tucking him in. He brushed a lock of tangled hair off of Jaskier’s forehead, something akin to tenderness welling up in his throat and making his hand shake where it touched the other man. 

Jaskier let out a little whine of loss when Geralt’s hand moved away, but he quickly settled. Geralt practically tiptoed out of the room so as not to disturb him again. He winced at the noise of the door to the bedroom, too loud in the quiet apartment, as he shut it behind him and trod into the living room. Jaskier’s mother was fast asleep on the sofa, and Geralt passed her on his way to the kitchen. 

In the privacy of his own mind, Geralt took the time to thank the gods that she was still asleep. He had hit his quota on human interaction the night before, having done his best to impress Jaskier’s mother for Jaskier. He didn’t particularly like the woman-- the way a barb was hidden in her every sentence, for example, was something he could’ve lived without-- but Jaskier obviously cared about her and her opinion, and Geralt cared about Jaskier.

_ Platonically _ , of course.

(He ignored the niggling reminder in his mind that, upon waking up next to Jaskier, the last thing Geralt had wanted to do was leave the bed.)

Shaking his head, like he could force the thought out, Geralt opened the fridge and took out the carton of eggs. He’d bullied Jaskier into buying actual groceries (to his horror, he’d found that the other man hadn’t been lying about only having an expired can of Spaghetti-O’s by way of food. Geralt honestly wasn’t sure how Jaskier was still alive) a few days ago. Geralt was no master chef, but he could at least whip up breakfast while the two Pankratzes were sleeping. The inability to get up at a reasonable hour seemed to be genetic.

Geralt also started the coffee maker; he was no stranger to Jaskier in the morning, and he knew that the man wasn’t functional without at least two cups of coffee in him. 

Before long, the kitchen was filled with the smell of omelets and coffee. Geralt could hear stirring deeper in the apartment as he slid the first omelet onto a plate. He smiled to himself: the best way to summon a Jaskier was to cook somewhere the man could smell it. Geralt didn’t look up from the pan even as the soft footsteps reached the kitchen.

“Coffee?” Jaskier croaked, padding over to the machine. 

Geralt turned towards him and his breath caught. Jaskier wore one of the fuzzy blankets from off of his bed like a cape around his shoulders, the end of it trailing on the floor behind him. His hair was even messier than before, like he’d run a hand through it upon waking and not bothered to fix it. His face was still sleep-soft, and he stared at Geralt with those huge blue eyes. He was a  _ grown man _ , for god’s sakes, but the only word Geralt could think of to describe him was  _ adorable.  _

And,  _ Jesus _ , Jaskier was wearing one of Geralt’s old shirts. Geralt had no idea where he’d gotten it-- he’d probably stolen it at some point, the little clothing thief-- but something about the whole ensemble melted Geralt’s brain. Jaskier didn’t let many people see him like this, less than perfectly put together, and the inherent trust in it all had something in Geralt’s chest fluttering. He was pretty sure his omelet was burning, but he couldn’t look away. 

Geralt took a moment to even register what Jaskier had asked. “It’s made,” he said gruffly, pointing at the machine and flipping his omelet with a little too much force.

Jaskier made a happy noise, brushing a kiss on his cheek as he walked past him to get to the coffee machine. Geralt shivered at the contact. He blamed the way his face heated up on the hot pan in front of him, nothing else. 

“Good morning,” Jaskier said when he’d drained his first cup, voice still hoarse from sleep. “Why are you up so early?”

“Jas, it’s ten in the morning,” Geralt raised an eyebrow as he handed Jaskier a plate. “I should be asking you that.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be mean,” he huffed. “Some of us require our beauty sleep, you know. I don’t know how you can look so put together at this infernal hour, much less actually function.” He poked at the omelet. “Did you put cheese in this?”

“Yes, because you complain when I don’t,” Geralt turned back to the stove. “What does your mother like?”

“Well, historically, not me, but--”

“On her  _ omelets _ , Jaskier.”

He could tell Jaskier was pouting without even looking at him. “Mushrooms,” Jaskier muttered mutinously. “I think I bought some at the grocery store, but it’s also possible I got distracted and bought candy instead.”

“You did both,” Geralt said mildly, grabbing the thing of mushrooms and adding some to the pan. 

“I hear the judgement in your tone, my dear, and see if I share my chocolate with you,” Jaskier sniffed, somehow managing to look imperious as he hopped up onto the counter in his blanket cape. He sat next to the stove, kicking his feet idly at the counters and eating his breakfast. Every so often, he’d nudge Geralt with his foot, not because he needed anything, but because he liked the contact. 

_ Adorable _ , Geralt thought again, and he wanted to kiss Jaskier’s stupid face.

_ Oh _ . That was new. 

Geralt wasn’t unaware of his attraction to Jaskier. Secretly, he believed that most people were probably a little bit attracted to Jaskier, because not only was he beautiful, but he was genuinely  _ good _ , but that was a separate issue. But he’d refused to categorize it as anything but a passing physical fancy, even though it hadn’t exactly abated in all the years they’d known each other. 

But this? Wanting to taste Jaskier’s lips when he was soft and sleep-rumpled, sitting on the counter in his apartment while Geralt cooked him breakfast? Wanting to curl up with him under that blanket he was wearing and laze on the sofa together? Wanting to touch him, to see if the skin of his cheek was as soft as it looked? This was different, and it wasn’t exactly going away.

Geralt would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he wanted to wake up with Jaskier laying on his chest every day. He wanted these sleepy mornings, the fond teasing,  _ everything _ . He was far too cynical to call it love, the cocktail of emotions brewing in his chest for Jaskier, but it definitely wasn’t nothing. 

Before he could overthink it, Geralt leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. It wasn’t anything, really, but it had Jaskier pausing in his ramble, face going an appealing shade of pink. His mouth fell open in surprise, and something in Geralt’s gut curled in satisfaction.  _ He  _ had put that look on Jaskier’s face.

Unfortunately, Jaskier recovered his composure quickly. “If you’re trying to seduce me into sharing my chocolate, it’s going to take a lot more than that,” he teased, a smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. 

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, turning off the burner and stepping between Jaskier’s splayed legs. With Jaskier sitting on the high countertop, he was taller than Geralt, and Geralt had to tip his chin up just slightly. He could hear the hitch of Jaskier’s breath as he leaned closer, closer. “How about this?”

Jaskier audibly swallowed. “Geralt, you’re a horrible tease, and I hope you know that,” he said shakily. 

Geralt opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a different voice. 

“Good morning, boys,” Mrs. Pankratz said, a knowing note in her tone. “Please remember that food gets prepared on those counters, and I know Julian doesn’t own disinfectant.”

In all honesty, Geralt had forgotten that there was a third person in the apartment. All at once, reality hit him. They were faking this affection; at least, Jaskier was. That was why he was playing along, not because of any feelings that Geralt had fooled himself into thinking that Jaskier had for him.

(The worst part was that Geralt hadn’t been faking, not even a little bit.)

Jaskier flushed to the tips of his ears. “Good morning, Mother,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “Geralt made omelets.”

“I can see that,” she said lightly. “Thank you, Geralt.”

“Of course,” Geralt said, somewhat gruffly. He stepped away from Jaskier and shoved his emotions back down where they belonged. Jaskier took the opening to slide off of the countertop, and Geralt told himself he didn’t miss the line of heat against his body. 

(He didn’t miss  _ his _ Jaskier, the one who could waltz into the kitchen with a messy head and a blanket cape and sit on the countertops, not even when that Jaskier disappeared, smoothing his hair down and tossing his blanket into the living room, looking as put together as he could in a shirt three sizes too big and fuzzy socks.)

Jaskier was talking again, and his mother was responding, but Geralt felt oddly disconnected from it all. He grabbed the omelet pan for want of something to hold and walked over to the sink to wash it. As long as he was doing the dishes, he decided, he didn’t have to look at Jaskier. He didn’t have to imagine where they might’ve gone, without the interruption. 

He didn’t have to remember that none of this was real.

Geralt scrubbed the pan with a vengeance and tore the sponge.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are! the final chapter! this was a labor of love for me, and i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it :))

Jaskier breathed a silent sigh of relief when his mother announced her plans to depart by the end of the hour. Maybe it was selfish of him, but Jaskier was looking forward to not having to parse every sentence for a hidden meaning, or watch his own words lest he reveal something carelessly. He loved his mother, he really did, but speaking to her was like sticking his hand into a beehive and hoping he wouldn’t get stung. It was exhausting, to put it simply, and Jaskier was ready for there to be a hundred or so miles between them again.

He was also looking forward to his and Geralt’s ruse finally being over. Not that he wasn’t enjoying pretending to date Geralt, but since their weird moment at breakfast the other day, Geralt had been acting strangely. Jaskier knew he’d taken it too far; god, he’d almost  _ kissed _ Geralt when his friend was just trying to help him out. As soon as Jaskier’s mother left, they could go back to normal, and maybe Geralt would stop looking at him with that undecipherable look in his eyes, the one that had something like hope flaring to life in Jaskier’s heart like a particularly painful muscle spasm.

Jaskier was an optimist, but he wasn’t an  _ idiot _ . Hope wouldn’t get him anywhere but disappointed and heartbroken. Still, he couldn’t help it. He did his best to shove his feelings deep down, though. He could handle losing a fake boyfriend, but he refused to do anything that would jeopardize his and Geralt’s very real friendship. 

Geralt had left the apartment, actually, earlier that day. He’d said he was getting groceries, but Jaskier figured he was really getting some space from the Pankratzes and their complete takeover of his weekend. Jaskier couldn’t exactly blame him, even though it left something hollow in his stomach. 

Without Geralt there to back him up, to be his silent support, Jaskier found that all of his usual charm had abandoned him. He was standing in awkward silence in the living room, trying to think of something to say to his  _ mother _ , of all people. It should’ve been easy, but it just wasn’t. Jaskier’s complicated feelings about his mother hadn’t magically resolved themselves over her short visit, and it left him picking at his fingernails while studiously avoiding her eyes.

“When is your boyfriend coming back?” she asked him finally, ostensibly taking pity on his inability to start a conversation. “He’s been gone awhile, and I wanted to say goodbye to him before I left.”

Jaskier did his best not to wince. “Uh, soon,” he lied, hoping saying it would make it true. “The grocery store is just a little far, that’s all.”

His mother hummed. “Oh, good,” she said. “That gives us some time to talk.” She sat down on the sofa and patted the spot next to her. “Come here, Julian.”

Jaskier walked over with no small amount of trepidation. “Talking” with his mother usually ended in shouting matches, or him storming out, or her crying, and none of those were desirable outcomes. Taking a deep breath to remind himself to stay calm, he sat down next to her. God, but this would be easier with Geralt with him. 

“What do you want to talk about, Mother?” he tried not to sound resigned, but by the look on his mother’s face, he didn't succeed.

“You’re doing very well,” she said, no hint of criticism in her voice, which was a first, Jaskier still braced himself, just in case. “And I know that we don’t always agree, but I wanted to let you know that I’m proud of the life you’ve made here, Julian.”

“I don’t need your approval,” Jaskier muttered under his breath, though there was a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth that he couldn’t stop. “Does this mean you’re going to stop nagging me about going back to university?”

She pursed her lips. “No,” she said wryly. “Because I’m your mother, and I’m always going to think I know best. But I’m willing to admit that it’s possible that I don’t know everything. Julian, all I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is for you to be happy. If you’re happy here, I’m happy.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Not that I’m not enjoying it,” he said slowly. “But what brought on this change of heart? I thought you were of the opinion that I was wasting my potential here.”

“Your boyfriend and I had a chat,” his mother said, and Jaskier’s mouth fell open. When had Geralt done that? And  _ why _ ? It wasn’t exactly unwelcome, Geralt standing up for him, but it was fucking weird. Geralt tended to avoid anything even tangentially related to emotions like the plague.  _ Especially  _ when it came to other people’s emotions. “For such a succinct man, he’s surprisingly persuasive when he wants to be. He’s a keeper, that one. Hold on to him; I expect to see him at Christmas.”

Guilt caught in Jaskier’s throat. “Of course, Mother,” he choked out. He’d never been a good liar, and it wasn’t like he was going to gain the ability now, so he was sure she saw right through him. 

Still, she at least did him the kindness of pretending she didn’t. “He’s good for you,” she continued, ignoring his obvious distress. “You’re less flighty when you’re with him.”

He resolutely did not blush. “I’m never flighty!” he protested, ignoring the actual content of her statement. He didn’t want to think about the effects Geralt had on him, especially when none of this was real, anyway. “I just…”

“Have a tendency to lose interest in things quite quickly?” she teased with a small smile. “I confess, I didn’t think you’d be able to keep a relationship for three years--”

“And there’s the criticism I missed so much,” Jaskier huffed, crossing his arms. For all their relationship had progressed during her stay, things were still…  _ prickly _ , to say the least. “Oh, wait, no I didn’t.”

“--but I was  _ wrong _ ,” she finished, like she could read his thoughts. “And I think it’s because you and Geralt have something special. Cling to it, Julian. Don’t panic and hold it at arm’s length like you usually do.”

“I don’t do that!” Jaskier spluttered, but his mother clearly wasn’t listening. She was  _ right _ , not that he’d ever admit it. 

The scraping of a key in the door cut off any further argument on Jaskier’s end. Geralt stepped into the apartment after a moment, groceries in hand. Jaskier was happy to see him, if only to end the conversation with his mother. He was all for open communication, but at some point, talking to his mother about his (fake) love life got awkward. 

“Oh, good, you’re home,” Jaskier said, ushering Geralt inside. He noticed his slip-- this wasn’t Geralt’s home-- but he didn’t want to call attention to it. “You’re just in time, actually; my mother was just leaving, and she wanted to say goodbye to you.”

Jaskier’s mother gave him a look, but she stood when he did. “Julian is right: I do have a train to catch,” she said, grabbing her jacket. “I should leave now if I want to get back home before dinner.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Pankratz,” Geralt shifted his bags so that he had a free hand to offer to Jaskier’s mother. If he thought her abrupt departure was odd, he didn’t say anything; not, of course, that Jaskier expected him to, but there were no judgemental  _ hmms  _ either, so he’d take it as a win.

“Geralt, it was wonderful meeting you, as well,” his mother said with a saccharine smile. “But if you hurt Julian, I promise, you’ll wish you’d never met me. Goodbye, darlings!”

“Mother!” Jaskier cried indignantly, but she was already gone, like a tornado that touched down only to make things weird before flying off into the night. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t his best metaphor by any stretch of the imagination (or even a good one), but he was a little frazzled. 

Geralt looked a little stunned, but he was definitely used to taking Pankratz nonsense in stride, so Jaskier wasn’t too worried. He tried not to look absolutely mortified, though, as he moved to lock the door behind his mother.

“Well, that went well,” Jaskier said, letting out a breath that he hadn’t realized that he was holding. He slumped against the wall in relief. “Really, I was expecting a whole lot worse. And, hey, a point for your acting skills! I’m pretty sure she believed us. All thanks to you, of course. Seriously, you’re the best.”

“Hmm,” said Geralt, eloquent as always. He held out the plastic bags. “I bought you vegetables. Stop eating Spaghetti-O’s.”

“Thank you,” said Jaskier with a small smile, taking the groceries from Geralt’s hands, but meaning so much more. He couldn’t think of the words that he wanted, for once. They just wouldn’t come, no matter how hard he searched for them.

Geralt shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“ _ Thank you, _ ” Jaskier repeated, looking into Geralt’s eyes and willing the other man to understand. It wasn’t just the groceries, even though he’d picked up Jaskier’s favorite snack foods in addition to the healthy things. It was his general existence that Jaskier was thanking him for, his unfailing kindness hidden behind that gruff exterior, his genuine  _ goodness _ that left Jaskier near tears. 

Geralt nodded, but said nothing. Jaskier hoped that meant Geralt had gotten all that he didn’t say. He let the moment stretch for a moment longer before it broke, Geralt wrenching his golden gaze away and Jaskier fussing with the bags in his hands. 

Jaskier busied himself with putting the groceries away and pretended not to notice how Geralt stood awkwardly near the door. Now that Jaskier’s mother was gone and the jig was up, it was like they’d forgotten how to orbit each other like they usually did. Jaskier cursed himself; this had been, without a doubt, one of his dumbest plans. He’d ruined their friendship, he realized (without a hint of drama, thank you very much), and he’d have to do some serious scrambling to fix this. 

First things first: letting Geralt know that he was free to go, that he didn’t have to put up with Jaskier’s company any longer. 

“I’d invite you in to watch a movie, but I figure you’re probably sick of me by now,” Jaskier smiled around the sour taste in his mouth. It was fine; he was used to it. He finished with the groceries and moved into the living room. Geralt followed, after a beat. “No need to worry about offending me, I’m well aware that I’m, well, a lot. You’re free to go; I hereby release you from our fake dating contract.”

Geralt nodded stiffly. “I do have to pick up Roach,” he said finally. 

“Go, then, go,” Jaskier shooed him out of the apartment, his laugh just too high pitched to be real. He hoped Geralt didn’t pick up on it. “Tell her I say hello and that I adore her, even though she’s a furry little menace. And I’ll see you later?”

“Bye, Jaskier,” said Geralt, never one for sentiment, but there was something lingering, almost searching, in his eyes. Jaskier didn’t have time to analyze it before Geralt was turning away and walking towards the door. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. His emotions were already a mess; he didn’t need to add fuel to that particular fire.

The quiet click of the door shutting behind Geralt was deafening in the silence, and Jaskier was acutely aware, all of the sudden, that he was the only one left in the apartment.

Jaskier had never minded living alone. Honestly, he found it peaceful, and it was easier to write his music without the distraction of another person. Even he needed his alone time sometimes.

But then why did he feel so damn  _ lonely _ ?

\-----

After several days of living on top of each other, the first morning Geralt spent in a Jaskier-free apartment felt almost alien. There was no humming to break the silence, no rambling about anything and everything (except relevant topics), and no stumbling footsteps caused by socks on slippery floors, all sounds that he had gotten used to far too quickly while staying with Jaskier. Geralt wasn’t sure he missed the noise, per se, but it was definitely odd now to be without it.

His normal routine was utilitarian: he ate breakfast, he went to work, he ate dinner, and he went to sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. He’d never minded the monotony of his life. Honestly, he didn’t think he’d be able to handle Jaskier’s daily dose of chaos and unpredictability. But now, as Geralt went to make the same omelet for breakfast that he always did, the quiet felt almost oppressive. Jaskier wasn’t bugging him about cheese and kicking at the counters in a rhythm only he understood. 

Geralt hadn’t realized how easy it was to get used to something until it was taken away.

Sure, he had missed Jaskier before. There had been that time when Jaskier had decided to go back to university for a year because they’d offered him a teaching position. Geralt was no stranger himself to long trips, either. And they didn’t talk about the one fight that had kept them from speaking for six months. But all of those times hadn’t come on the heels of learning what brand of shampoo Jaskier used, or that he had four pillows on his bed but only liked two of them, or even what he looked like, half-asleep and grinning dopily after waking up from a good dream. 

Before, Geralt hadn’t been missing Jaskier like he was now, because he hadn’t quite known what to miss. Now, he had those stolen couple days branded into his mind, making him feel like there was something gone from him, something he’d never even really had.

God, he’d spent too much time with Jaskier if even his own thoughts were trying to get poetic on him. 

Shaking his head to clear it, Geralt took an angry bite of his breakfast. He’d gotten too attached, and now he was paying the price for it. He knew he should’ve said no when Jaskier had come to him with this whole scheme, puppy dog eyes be damned. Now he was left pining for a man who pretended to like him to fool his mother; Geralt could think of few things more pathetic.

He didn’t even have work today to distract him. No, he had to spend the rest of his day trying desperately to avoid thinking about Jaskier when his shirt, liberated from the (surprisingly large) pile of his clothing at Jaskier’s place, still smelled like the other man. Geralt had no earthly idea how he was supposed to manage that. 

He unlocked his phone and scrolled through his apps, looking for any possible distraction. Most of them were inane games downloaded by Jaskier, who often stole his phone when he got bored, like a child. That should’ve caused a spike of irritation in Geralt, but it rang as endearing, to be honest. 

Geralt’s thumb hovered over his message app. He could text someone, he supposed, and ask for-- what? Company? Something to do? It wasn’t his worst idea. The only hitch there was, well, the only person whose company Geralt wanted was the person he was supposed to be avoiding all thoughts of. 

Maybe he could text Yennefer. She’d mock him relentlessly, but at least she’d bring the good alcohol. 

He resolved to text Yen, but he opened Jaskier’s contact, instead. He stared at the screen for a long, long time. The little cursor blinked mockingly, begging him to type something. Geralt had never hated it more. 

He didn’t even know what to say! Words weren’t his forte, to put it mildly. Geralt thought about turning his phone off, putting it down and going to do something else, but he just couldn’t. Jaskier’s name stared at him from the top of his screen.

_ Are you busy?  _ Geralt typed out, sending the text before he could second-guess it. His heart sped up in his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have sent it at all. 

The reply came in with a cheerful ding.  _ ofc not,  _ Jaskier sent back immediately.  _ why? miss me already? _

Geralt winced, hating how transparent he was. He knew it was just teasing, all in good fun, but still.  _ Nevermind, _ he typed out quickly.

_ im minding,  _ wrote Jaskier, several texts coming through in rapid succession.  _ consider yourself minded. whats up? you never text me. i didnt think you knew how to open your message app. _

_ Really, it’s nothing,  _ Geralt sent. He turned off his phone and flipped it face down so that he wouldn’t see Jaskier’s reply and ignored the buzzing notifications. He wasn’t sure why he’d even texted in the first place. It had been one of his dumber ideas, that was for sure. 

(Geralt knew  _ exactly  _ why he’d texted Jaskier. He missed the other man, god damn it. Because he had a painful, stupid  _ crush _ , like he was a teenager, or something. The universe was unfair like that sometimes.)

With a loud groan, Geralt leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to feel the exasperation that was boiling up in his chest. It was his own damn fault that he was in this situation, as little as he wanted to admit it. He should’ve just said no. 

Geralt stood and scrubbed his face with his hand. He walked over to the pile of dishes sink; he could at least  _ try  _ to get something useful done, instead of lying about and pining over someone who didn’t want him. 

His phone was staying suspiciously silent where he’d left it on the table. It had rung, twice, and Geralt had let both calls go to voicemail. He’d hoped that would be the end of it, but he’d clearly underestimated Jaskier. Geralt was a little surprised at how quickly Jaskier had managed to get to his apartment building; it wasn’t exactly a short walk. The timing meant that Jaskier must’ve already been on his way over when Geralt had texted him, but Geralt shoved  _ that  _ out of his head at record speeds. 

“Geralt Rivia, you answer this door right now,” his friend’s muffled voice came from outside. “Or I will kick it, and then I’ll break my foot, and you’d feel really bad about that, wouldn’t you? Sitting in your apartment while I die of a broken foot right outside. I’m kicking in three, two--”

Geralt wrenched the door open. He had no doubt that Jaskier would follow through on his threat, and then  _ he’d  _ be the one stuck taking the idiot to the hospital. “Why are you here?” he asked gruffly.

“You sounded upset when you texted,” Jaskier admitted with a shrug, like it should’ve been obvious. “And as your friend-- which I hope we still are, by the way, there were some mixed signals on your end-- I wanted to come check and make sure that you weren’t being held hostage, or something. It was a valid assumption! You’re acting quite strange, if I do say so myself.”

Geralt blinked in surprise at the onslaught of words. “I’m fine,” he said, the words sticking in his throat. He didn’t move from the doorway to let Jaskier in, though; he didn’t know that he could handle the closeness, only to lose it again.

Jaskier huffed and pushed past him anyway. “You’re not,” he said, looking at Geralt like he was daring him to bullshit him. “You texted me, which you never do. Anyone else, I’d assume they were just bored, but you? You  _ like  _ boredom. You’d never text me to interrupt your regularly scheduled hour of sitting and staring at the wall in silence--”

“ _ Meditating, _ ” Geralt huffed.

“--hence, there’s something wrong,” Jaskier finished with a flourish. “So, talk to me. What’s going on in that emotionally constipated brain of yours?”

“Nothing,” growled Geralt, hoping that maybe if he was prickly enough, Jaskier would get annoyed and stop prying. Damn, he knew sending that text was a terrible idea.

Jaskier leveled him with an unimpressed look. “We are well past that,” he said, crossing his arms. “Geralt, I’m not an idiot. Now, we can stand here and stare at each other, or you can talk to me.” Geralt stayed stubbornly silent. “I can  _ definitely  _ irritate you into telling me. It’s my talent, you know? If there was an award for being irritating, you  _ know  _ I’d have won--”

“Fine!” Geralt said loudly, silencing Jaskier’s ramble. “You want to know what the problem is? It’s you!” Jaskier gaped at him, looking hurt, but Geralt was powerless to stop the words. “I can’t get you out of my head, Jaskier, and  _ it’s driving me insane _ .”

Jaskier’s face went through the entire spectrum of human emotion and then some, finally settling on somewhere between neutral and hoping. “Well,” he said after a beat. “I can’t say I was expecting that.”

Geralt scrubbed a hand at his face. “It’s fine,” he said, turning away. “Just… go, okay? I’m fine.”

“Hang on just a moment,” Jaskier’s hand was a warm weight on Geralt’s shoulder. “If I’m understanding this right, you have feelings for me, correct?” Geralt nodded miserably. “Then why the  _ fuck  _ are you trying to get rid of me? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, dancing in the streets? What  _ do  _ you do to celebrate things?”

Geralt didn’t know how to respond to that. “Because it’s not like you want me,” he settled on, shrugging Jaskier’s hand off. 

“You’re the stupidest man I’ve ever met in my entire life,” this time, Jaskier’s touch was more forceful, spinning him around until their eyes met. “I’ve been flirting with you for ten years, half in love with you for pretty much the same. How could you say that I don’t want you?”

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “No, that’s not true. I would’ve noticed.”

Jaskier laughed out loud, which was a little bit mean, but Geralt detected nothing mocking behind it. “No, you wouldn’t have,” he said confidently. “And you didn’t. Because you’re an oblivious idiot, but you’re  _ my  _ oblivious idiot.”

“Yours?” Geralt raised a questioning eyebrow. He wasn’t opposed, of course, but…

Jaskier flushed bright red. “And I’m yours,” he said quietly. “If you want us to be that way. If not, I understand, it’s fine, I shouldn’t have assumed. Actually, I probably should see myself out now, now that I’ve made a massive fool of myself. Wait, what are you--”

Geralt shut him up with a kiss. It took Jaskier a moment to quiet and get with the program, but once he did, Geralt was pretty sure his brain melted out his ears.  _ Damn _ , Jaskier was a good kisser. Geralt lost himself in the slide of lips on lips, the heat of Jaskier against him, the way Jaskier’s hand felt against his cheek. It was easy to overindulge in the sensation, in all the feelings that Jaskier stirred in him that Geralt didn’t want to lock away, not this time. 

It wasn’t technically a perfect kiss. The angle was odd, and their teeth clacked, and Geralt couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands. But it was  _ Jaskier _ , and that was what mattered.

Geralt pulled away for air regretfully. In front of him, Jaskier stood flushed and panting, and Geralt was pretty sure he looked much the same. Jaskier’s smile was tentative, but contagious. Geralt wanted him to smile all the time.

“That was nice-- nay,  _ amazing _ \-- but you are  _ not  _ allowed to kiss me every time you want me to shut up,” Jaskier huffed.

“Hmm,” Geralt could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth as he brushed a lock of hair away from Jaskier’s forehead. “Does that mean you don’t want another kiss?”

Jaskier looked positively offended. “I never said that,” he said. “Actually, as punishment for such slander, I think you need to come and kiss me again.”

Geralt hummed, only too happy to oblige.

Much,  _ much  _ later, curled up in his bed together, Geralt noticed that Jaskier wouldn’t settle. For all of his normal energy, the man tended to sleep like the dead as soon as he was in a bed, so Geralt was a little confused. Jaskier kept almost dozing off, only to jerk himself awake and watch Geralt through lidded blue eyes, like if he closed them for too long, Geralt would be gone.

Geralt couldn’t find the words to tell Jaskier that there was literally nowhere else he’d rather be right then. Instead, he turned his gaze on the other man, cocking an eyebrow expectantly as he waited for Jaskier to tell him what was wrong.

Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s bare chest. Geralt waited, breathing evenly, for Jaskier to find his words. Unlike Geralt, he really did have a gift for them.

“I thought I’d ruined everything,” Jaskier whispered finally, like a guilty secret he didn’t want to admit. “Asking you to fake date me; it was weird, I made things weird. I thought I’d thrown away our friendship because I wanted to impress my mother. I just… I don’t want to wake up and realize this was a dream, okay? I know, it’s pathetic.”

“Not pathetic,” Geralt rumbled. He understood completely; he didn’t want to close his eyes, either. “Not ruined, either.”

Jaskier’s smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Not ruined,” he repeated softly. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming, though? Because this really does feel too good to be true.”

Geralt pinched his arm sharply and Jaskier yelped. “Pretty sure, yeah,” he teased, a smirk on his lips.

“Rude!” Jaskier spluttered indignantly. “I should get out of bed right now to protest this... this… this horrible injustice! This is an affront to--  _ mmph! _ ”

Geralt took his rambling as a cue to do his new favorite thing: shutting Jaskier up with his mouth. There would be time later, he knew, to discuss everything unsaid between them, but for now, Geralt was content to lay in bed, Jaskier’s hand in his, and just  _ be _ . If Jaskier had any complaints, for once, he didn’t voice them. That could’ve been due to his mouth being otherwise occupied, but the point stood. 

  
Geralt pulled Jaskier on top of him, and after that, there was  _ definitely  _ no more talking.

**Author's Note:**

> what did you think? comments and kudos bring me so much joy :))


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